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WM. WILBERFORCE NEWTON 



EASTER EDITION 



r 



PITTSPIELD MASS 
» J. A. MAXIM 



X 






T T' 



COPYRIGHT, 1S92, J)Y 

J. A. MAXIM. 



Pittsfield, Mass. 
S. S. Wheeler, g r DennY) 

PHOTOGRAPHER. 



PRINTER. 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 

J Wm. Wilberfokce Newton, .... Frontispiece 

PAGE 

Greylock from Lake Onota, 9 

v The Soldiers' Monument, . 37 

Pulpit of St. Stephen's Church, 55 



POEMS. 

Help From the Hills, 7 

The Voice of St. John, 10 

The Meaning of the Monument, 36 

Pollice Verso, 39 

The Legend of All-Souls-Day, 44 

Re-assurance, 48 

The Mirage, 50 

Among the Hills, ..52 

The Message of the Pulpit, 53 

The Idle Harp 55 



HELP FROM THE HILLS. 



I WILL LIFT UP MINE EYES UNTO THE HILLS FROM 
WHENCE COMETH MY HELP ! " 



Up to the Hills of God's eternal keeping, 
Which round ns rise with ever wooded domes, 
Our spirits struggle : from our mountain homes 

We gather'in the vintage and the reaping 
Of inward quiet in the troubled soul, 

Of peace and rest, and freedom from the toil 
Of feverish warfare mid the endless roll 

Of crowded cities built on barren soil. 
Here midst these hoary hills a calm descends 

On simple living. Each new opening scene 
Brings work and rest, while nature gently blends 

The winter's storm with summer skies serene, 
And all the consecrated household joys 
We gather in as children do their toys. 

From Greylock's summit to the burnished sheen 

Which gilds Onota's placid bosom fair, 

7 



HELP FKOM THE HILLS. 

How many a path, like an enchanted stair, 
Leads to the heart of Nature : like a queen 

Hidden in trackless maze her spirit dwells 
And throbs through leafy grove and silent glen. 

A conscious joy and sense of presence wells 
Eternally amid these shades, and when 

The tired truant seeks the mother's arms, 
Worn with the grimy dust of stubborn strife, 

At every turn in wood and dell, the charms 
Of thy restoring self, Thou Font of Life, 

The wayward nature feeleth, and it thrills 

The yielding soul with strength from out these Hills. 

At times the parable is manifest ; with open page 

"We read the lesson found within our reach. 

It is not difficult to learn or teach ; 
And while men wonder, while the heathen rage, 

We see the pictured truth lie close at hand ; 
Help cometh from the Hills. This much is clear ; 

This much at least 'tis ours to understand ; 
And he who wills to win must never fear 

Above himself to live ; his eager heart 
Must heed those primal voices manifold 

8 



HELP FKOM THE HILLS. 

Which upward call him ; if the better part 
Of life he chooses, let his spirit bold 
Dare to chain down the self-asserting brute 
Which hides in man and makes his music mute. 

O life ! O time ! O struggling soul of man, 
Life, time, are in thy hands ; dare to be brave, 
Dare to be godlike, and divinely crave 

That which is God's in God's own chosen plan, 
Whereby, among the saved in Zion, thou, 

With willing feet and soul forever free 

From stain or sin, among the saints may bow 

In grateful praise to Him who fashioned thee 
In His own likeness. Neither stock nor stone, 

Nor force nor power in nature, can outlast 
The spark of God within thee. Round yon throne 

His children stand ; and when the archangel's blast 
Shall rend the face of nature with decay, 
Thou shalt live on in ever opening day. 



THE VOICE OF ST. JOHN. 



Scene : — St. John at Ephesus, on the last Easter-day of 
his life, gathers the members of the chnrch together, by 
the riverside, and tells his converts once more the story of 
the first Easter-day. 

"Little children .... it is the last time." 

i John ii. 18. 



PREFACE. 



'In the convent of Drontheim, 
Alone in her chamber 
Knelt Astrid the Abbess, 
At midnight, adoring, 
Beseeching, entreating 
The Virgin and Mother. 

: She heard in the silence 
The voice of one speaking 
Withont in the darkness, 
In gusts of the night- wind, 
Now louder, now nearer, 
Now lost in the distance. 

; The voice of a stranger 
It seemed as she listened, 
Of some one who answered, 
Beseeching, imploring, 
A cry from afar off 
She could not distinguish. 



PREFACE. 

[ The voice of Saint John, 
The beloved disciple, 
Who wandered and waited 
The Master's appearance, 
Alone in the darkness, 
Unsheltered and friendless." 

H. W. Longfellow. 



THE VOICE OF ST. JOHN. 



I. 

Gather round me, little children, for my days are ebbing 

fast, 
And yonr aged friend and father goeth to his home at 

last. 

Soon the oldest of Apostles, white-haired, worn, and 

craving rest, 
Called by God, must join his brethren, saints and martyrs, 

saved and blest. 

Here, beside the swift Meander, where our holy church 

has stood. 
Saints of Ephesus, I bid you hold the faith and seek the 

good. 

On this happy Easter morning, you have sung your hymns 

of praise, 

And my soul is filled with memories of those far-off, 

wondrous days, 

13 



THE VOICE OF ST. JOHN. 

When we hurried in the morning, hope befogged with 

clouds of gloom ; 
Hoping much, but fearing most — the silence of the sullen 

tomb. 

Little children ! sure, I feel it — 'tis the last time my poor 

breath 
Shall relate the Easter story — how our Lord has conquered 

death. 
Gather round me, then, and listen while I live the past 

once more, 
And recount the golden hours of that Easter-day of 

yore. 

II. 

Gray and cold was the dawn, and darkness hung long on 

the twilight, 
When Mary, the loved one forgiven, from whom had 

departed the devils, 
Limping and halt as she was, for the demons had troubled 

her sorely, 
Tapped at the lattice-door of the house of my mother, 

where Mary, 



THE VOICE OF ST. JOHN. 

The sister of Mary, the Virgin and wife of Clopas were 

waiting. 
These were the three who had stood by the blood-dripping 

cross of the Saviour. 
Theirs were the hands that received the body of Jesus, 

when Joseph 
Ascending the terrible cross, with Nicodemus, the ruler, 
Gently lowered the sheet, and folded the arms of the 

victim. 

Bearing the agonized mother away from the sight of the 

crosses, 
Giving my arm to the sufferer, pierced with the sword of 

her sorrows, 
Surely fulfilling the word which Simeon spake in the 

temple, 
Back from this vision of death, away from the shouts of 

the soldiers, 
Wearied and stricken and worn, I was sleeping the sleep 

of the troubled, 
Guarding the home of our loved one, of Mary, the mother 

of Jesus, 
Hard by the narrow street, that led up to the fortress of 

Herod. 



THE VOICE OF ST. JOHN. 

Little knew I of the plan of my mother, that early by 

day-break 
The women should go the tomb, to wait for the promised 

deliverance. 
'Twas Salome, my mother, yon know, Zebedee's wife, of 

Gennesaret, 
Who came to the Master of old, and asked for a place in 

in the kingdom, 
For those who stood nearest her heart, as she gave up her 

all to the Master, 
Leaving her home in the north, and her husband, the 

fisherman sailor ; 
'Twas Salome, my mother, I say, who prepared for this 

early adventure, 
First at the tomb in the garden, last upon Calvary's hill-top. 
Busy were they in the work of preparing the spikenard 

and ointment, 
Hoping and fearing by turns and ready for joy or for 

sorrow. 
Thus in the dark of the morning, before the first red of the 

sunrise, 
Wrapping their mantles about them, their hurrying feet 

sought the Garden. 

16 



THE VOICE OF ST. JOHN. 
III. 

But hark ! Was it thunder they heard 

Bumbling in darkness so still ? 

Stars in the sky seemed to fall, 

Soldiers affrighted, dismayed, 

Fled from the tomb, and like sheep 

Struck by the fiery bolts 

Of an eastern simoon in the sands 

Of the desert, were fleeing away, 

Trembling, the sisters advanced, 

Where a luminous cloud seemed to rest 

In the rocky recess of the tomb. 

Then came the vision of light ! 

Angels were guarding the place ! 

The stone on the pathway was rolled, 

The sepulchre empty and bright, 

Gave the first note of that joy 

Which to Easter must always belong, 

Telling them Christ was alive ! 

Then in the triumph of bliss, 

Quick in her womanly thought, 

Mary, the Magdalene, fled, 

Leaving her comrades behind, 
17 



THE VOICE OP ST. JOHN. 

To feast on the fulness of faith 
Changed to the richness of sight, 
While the red sun in the heavens 
Poured forth the splendors of day ! 
Never had sunrise till then 
Meant such a flood of bright hopes ; 
Never had light till this morn 
Been such a message from God : 
Never had darkness and fear 
Lurking within the cold tomb 
Been driven away, until now. 

It was then I heard hurrying feet, 

And the latch of the door opened wide, 

At the home of the mother of Christ, 

Where Simon had come from his tears, 

Humbled and saddened and wan. 

'Twas the Magdalene. Ere she could speak, 

In her face that was lighted with joy, 

The message of triumph I read, 

As she clasped her pale hands and exclaimed 

18 



THE VOICE OF ST. JOHN. 
IV. 

The Master has surely arisen ! 

Come, visit the spot where He lay. 
The keepers have fled, and an angel has said, 

"Christ is risen, is risen to-day/' 

We have been to the tomb very early, 
With ointment and spikenard, for fear 

Our hopes should deceive us, but, brothers, believe us, 
The angels have dried every tear. 

It was dark when we came to the garden, 

And we felt for the latch, as the gray 
Seemed to lighten, our footsteps to brighten 

And herald this wonderful day. 

Yet, perchance it is only a vision, 

Perchance I am dreaming or mad, 
But they've taken away our dear Lord where He lay, 

Run quickly ! Behold, and be glad ! 



19 



THE VOICE OF ST. JOHN. 

V. 

Starting away like ships that feel the breeze on the canvas, 
Simon and I in the zeal which is born in the moment of 

triumph ; 
Ran through the city's street, till we came to the gate of 

the Garden ; 
First at the tomb was I, while Peter came panting behind 

me, 
Weary and worn as he was, from the tears of his bitter 

sorrow. 
Alone we stood at the grave which was silent and robbed 

of its inmate ; 
No vision to us was vouchsafed, and the women had gone 

to the city. 
The guard from the fortress had fled, to carry the story to 

Pilate. 
"Where were the angels," we asked, "and how should 

we know what the truth was ? " 
For the sun was climbing the heavens and mystery still 

was our portion. 
'Twas then in our utter amaze, that the Magdalene 

following behind us, 
Came to the open tomb, and taking her resolute station, 
Said she would watch o'er the grave till she saw a new 

vision of angels : 



THE VOICE OF ST. JOHN. 

Firm in her faith was she, that Jesus was surely arisen, 
And trusting her future to God, she uttered this song, in 
her rapture : 

VI. 

I shall hehold His face 

And triumph in His love, 
I yet shall see His love for me, 

God's loving care above. 

I may not see His ways, 

Or know His secret plan, 
Yet I can wait His kingly state 

And feel His love for man. 

I can not scan God's will, 

I linger here in faith. 
Yet I shall see His love to me, 

I'll trust Him unto death. 

I shall behold His face, 

His loving form shall see. 
It must be nigh ; I can but sigh, 

Bring me, My Lord, to Thee ! 



THE VOICE OF ST. JOHtf. 
VII. 

It was then when we had departed, and wended onr way to 

the city, 
Seeking the other apostles, to tell them these wonderful 

rumors, 
That Mary, alone in the Garden, beholding a form drawing 

near her, 
Said to the vineyard's watch (supposing the gardener was 

coming), 
"If thou has borne Him hence, oh, tell me where thou 

hast laid Him, 
And I will take Him away, if death is the end of my 

vision. 
But if He is risen indeed — " Then beholding the face of 

the stranger, 
To the earth, as one dead, she fell ; while Jesus said to 

her— "Mary!" 

VIII. 

"Rabboni, my Master," she cried, 
" Thy feet, O my God, let me clasp ! 
Am I treading the pavement above 
Where freedom is given from doubt ? 



THE VOICE OF ST. JOHN. 

Am I lifted to light that is bliss ? 

Has heaven come down upon earth 

Since Christ over death has the power ?" 

Then Jesus to Mary replied ; 

Her face in her mantle shnt in, 

As though she were blinded with light : 

" Touch me not yet, O my child, 

Not yet to my Father in heaven 

Bearing the sheaves from the field, 

Bringing the first-fruits of life, 

Have I in triumph gone up. 

But go to my brethren and say, 

Back to our Father and God 

Soon I ascend ; that in joy 

In the kingdom that lieth beyond, 

We for all ages may be 

Brethren, united in life, 

Never by sorrow undone ! " 

IX. 

Gone in a moment was Christ, and the whispering breath 

of the west wind 

Fanned the penitent's face as she knelt where her Lord had 

been standing : 

23 



THE VOICE OF ST. JOHN. 

Leaving the Garden again, she encountered Salome and 
Mary 

Just by the brook, in the way that leads up to the fish- 
pond of Herod : 

Warm was their loving embrace while the Magdalene sang 
in her gladness : 



X. 

Hail to the brightness which heralds His glory ! 

Hail to the coming of Christ among men ! 
Back from the tomb He has come, and the story 

Is told us by angels again and again ! 

Death is uncrowned, since the Saviour of mortals 
The grave and destruction has robbed of their gloom 

Victory shines out from heaven's opened portals, 
Jesus has conquered the power of the tomb. 

Christ is arisen ! O tell it, with gladness, 
Bright shines this Easter morn, bringing Him near, 

Lovingly owning Him, banishing sadness, 
Hope springs eternal o'er darkness and fear. 



THE VOICE OF ST. JOHN. 

XI. 

It was then in the court of the temple, the priests and the 

rulers were plotting, 
How they might silence the tale brought back by the 

terrified soldiers : 
"They have stolen His body away; say this to the 

wondering people. " 
Such was the word of the rulers, such was their meaning 

of Easter. 

Easter noon was it now, when a party of loving disciples, 
Women, who spices prepared, to lay at the tomb of the 

prophet, 
From Galilee came, and inquired the way to the garden of 

Joseph. 
Thus they drew near to the cavern, all fern-crowned and 

buried in mosses, 

Peering within at the place where they thought they 

should see the Lord's body. 
While they were earnestly gazing, amazed to find nothing 

but grave-clothes, 
A luminous flame seemed to shine, and lo, the bright forms 

of two angels 
Told them that Christ was alive, as they chanted this song 

in sweet music : 

25 



THE VOICE OF ST. JOHN. 
XII. 

Awake! Awake! Glad voices make! 

Sing praise to Christ the Lord, 

The living Word, 

In earth and heaven 

Eternally adored ! 

For thankful songs 

From hearts and tongues 

To Christ our King is given 

From hearts of men 

Set free again 

And happy saints in heaven. 

'Tis Easter morn, new faith is born, 

The day of days the best. 

Sing praise to God ! 

Sing out abroad, 

With joy and hope possessed ! 

For now the Prince 

Of Peace hath fought, 

And triumphed o'er the grave, 

With holy arm, 

And strong right hand, 

Omnipotent to save. 

36 



THE VOICE OP ST. JOHN. 

No shadows now, our spirits bow, 

Our souls are raised on high, 

The Son of man 

In God's own plan 

Has come to earth to die. 

No doubts or fear 

Could hold Him here 

Detained by mortal breath. 

For now He lives 

And freely gives 

Redemption over death ! 

XIII. 

Frightened, and awe-struck, and still, the women from 

Galilee pondered 
What this strange vision should mean, ere it faded away 

into sunlight. 
Soon to their wondering souls there was joined the glad 

spirit of Mary, 
Who back from the vineyard returned when Jesus had 

vanished before her. 

" Come, let us seek the disciples, come, let us tell the glad 

tidings." 

37 



THE VOICE OF ST. JOHN. 

Cheerfully thus to the group the Magdalene spoke, 

and then added : 
"Out of a garden man wandered, sin entering in by a 

woman : 
Back to an Eden restored let woman recover the doubting." 
Leading the way to the city, the strangers from Galilee 

followed 
Close on the steps of their guide, as she knocked at the 

door-post of Simon — 
Simon the zealot, I mean, where, sitting within in the 

darkness, 
The scattered disciples were found engaged with these 

obstinate rumors. 
Gladly their story they told, but how could the brethren 

believe them ? 
How could it ever be true as Thomas exclaimed mid these 

doubtings : 

XIV. 

Now is done our work of faith, 
Can it be that Christ o'er death 
Triumphs with His human breath ? 
Let them freely say 

23 



THE VOICE OF ST. JOHN. 

What they hope or what they fear ! 
Binding law both far and near 
Rules supreme o'er grief and cheer, 
Night is never day ! 

When the human body dies, 
When the soul from matter flies, 
When the form beloved, lies 

In the silent tomb; 
Who can call us back once more, 
From the strange, mysterious shore, 
Where the gathered souls of yore 

Live beyond earth's gloom ? 

Nay, my brethren, do not grieve. 
I can ne'er this tale believe, 
Reason can not this receive, 

Can not understand ! 
In the Master's pierced side, 
Where the spear-thrust entered wide, 
In those palms once crucified, 

I must thrust my hand ! 

29 



THE VOICE OF ST. JOHN. 

XV. 

Shades of the evening grew on, while forth to a neighbor- 
ing village, 

Two of onr company went, to seek for the absent Salome, 

And as in their talk by the way they communed with 
each other and wondered, 

A pilgrim they passed on the road, a wayfarer mantled 
and hooded, 

Who, joining their steps toward the town, thus spoke with 
a tone of emotion : 

XVI. 

"Wherefore this saddened gaze, 
And why this gloom when all around is bright ? 
Walks trouble a companion with you on life's ways, 

Silent and dark as night ? " 

Then Cleopas replied, 
" Art thou a stranger in Jerusalem, 
And know'st thou not that Jesus Christ hath died ? 
Would'st thou our grief condemn 

" When we had trusted all 

Our hidden hopes to this, the Son of man, 

The last of all the prophets ; and the pall 

Grows thick o'er every plan ? 
30 



THE VOICE OF ST. JOHN. 

" And certain women brave, 
Have thrilled our spirits by the news they bring 
From Joseph's garden, for they say the grave 

Contains not anything — 

' ' And angels guard the place. 
Moreover, 'tis the third day, and we know 
He whom we trusted, told us face to face, 
Our faith to sight would grow. 

' ' And yet we see Him not, 
And fears come in and rob our rising breath. 
On earth there does not seem one favored sj3ot 

Untenanted by death." 

Then the wayfarer said : 
" fools and slow of heart to take in hand 
All that the prophets and seers of old 

Have told you : understand 

The purpose of the Lord." 
And then, with earnest look and kindling eye, 
The stranger, from the visions of God's "Word, 

Showed them why Christ must die ! 



THE VOICE OF ST. JOHN. 

Then on the shady road 
Which skirts the entrance to Einmaus' slope, 
Reaching, by sunset's hour, their plain abode, 

Aroused with kindling hope, 

They pressed their guest to stay. 
"Abide with us, for it is drawing late, 
And shadows fall," they said, "across the way : 

Pass not our humble gate." 

'Twas eve ; and yet 'twas dawn ! 
Quick as a flash while we were breaking bread 
We saw the living face we thought was dead, 

And Christ was gone ! 

XVII. 

'Twas night and the city was still. The paschal moon had 

arisen, 
Silvering the turrets and walls of the castles and fortresses 

grim, 
Light on the temple shone and the shadows were growing 

tall; 
In the evening watch could be heard the clatter of horses' 

hoofs, 

3» 



THE VOICE OF ST. JOHN. 

As down the pavement of stones some lordly Senator, late 
To the feast of his Roman friends, in his lumbering chariot 

was driven. 
The cry of the owl so shrill, as he perched in the cedars 

old, 
Or the call of some vender of wares, lost in the driver's 

noise, 
As he hurried his mules along, hroke in on the stillness of 

night. 

'Twas then in a secret room the eleven disciples were found, 
With others to whom the reports had been brought from 

the empty grave, 
While wonder and doubt like the tide ruled their spirits by 

turns. 
Into this upper room suddenly entered the two 
Who from Emmaus had come, crowning their hopes with 

the words : 
"Jesus is risen indeed ! Simon hath seen Him alive ! " 
'Twas then, while with rapture we stood, scanning the 

faces of friends, 
To find that assurance of hope, hidden away in our breasts, 
There in the midst of the group, ere we could know what 

it meant, 

33 



THE VOICE OF ST. JOHN. 

Jesus with glory appeared: Jesus, the same and yet chang- 
ed, 

Changed, yet our Jesus of old, breathing out blessings on 
each, 

"Peace to your spirits,'*' He said Why need I tell you 

the rest ? 

Tis the food and the drink of the soul ! Soon I shall see 
Him again; 

Soon in His bosom recline, as once at the passover feast 

To me it was given to feel the heart-beats of Him who has 
gone ! 

XVII. 

Thus I've told again the story 

Of the Resurrection morn, 
How, from out the clouds of darkness, 

Hope for man from God was born. 

Hold this faith, then, do not falter, 

Bear the trials of your life, 
Peace comes after struggle; after 

Death, comes lasting life. 

34 



THE VOICE OF ST. JOHN. 

Little children, keep from idols; 

Heed my faltering words to-day. 
This is God, the only true One. 

This is life, the only way. 

God is trne, and all things show it. 

Let yonr lives your trueness prove: 
Can you doubt on Easter morning, 

God is light and God is love ? 



35 



THE MEANING OF THE MONUMENT. 



" That this may he a sign among you, that when your children ask their 
fathers in time to come, saying what mean ye by these stones ? 

Then ye shall answer them ; these stones shall be for a memorial unto 
the children of Israel forever ! " Joshua iv, 6-7. 



I. 

Still his place our soldier keeps, 
Still the wife, the mother, weeps. 

Still our hands the garlands bring, 
Still with captive harps we sing. 

To the city of the dead, 
Still our willing feet are led. 

Time the test of Love and Truth, 
Ever guards the heart of Youth. 

Tell us true, O Sentinel, 

Cans't thou answer, "All is well ?" 

Here midst nature's smile and frown, 
Thou dost guard our favored town. 
36 



«*> 



THE MEANING OF THE MONUMENT. 

Towards the west thy face is turned, 
Speak — the lesson thou hast learned! 

Past thy pedestal the throng, 
Daily move their way along, 

Image of our buried dead — 

Thou dost halt where they have led. 

Tell us true, O Sentinel, 

Is thy answer, "All is well ? " 

II. 

Follow the dead. 'Tis better far to die 
With faith and courage than to live for greed. 
'Tis life, not stolen hours, which counts on high, 
'Tis life to follow where God's voice doth lead. 

Follow the dead. There is no joy like faith, 
No cheer like action — no true hope like this, 
Follow the dead. The gates of life through death, 
Have opened on the fields of heavenly bliss. 

Follow the dead. The motives of their life 

Shall give them precedence in realms of day; 

Firm with a purpose, out of earthly strife 

Their souls are journeying on their heavenward way. 

37 



THE MEANING OF THE MONUMENT. 

Enter the path. God's loving hand 
Leads all His sons. He gives them of His power 
Whene'er He calls them. Nothing can with-stand 
The strength which holds them in the dying honr. 

Forget thyself ! The worldling's hoarded gains 
Lead to destruction. Gird thyself, be strong; 
Endure, believe, strive on, these human pains 
Shall issue in the Seraph's burst of song. 

Only believe. Believe through doubt and fear; 
Heed thy soul's instincts. Hear the voices call 
Thy erring soul. Behold life's vision here 
And yield to God, He will not let thee fall. 

Choose your reward ! The creature's joy is thine, 
If for mere gain you yield your fluttering heart ; 
Choose your reward ! A joy and power divine 
Are his who chooseth well the better part. 

Comrades farewell ! Your work on earth is done; 

Rest in the holy calm of God on high; 

Ye in the path of life the palm have won, 

And ye shall live since ye have dared to die ! 

38 



POLLICE VERSO. 



In the gladiatorial contests in the Coliseum at Rome, it was the custom 
for the successful combatant before killing his vanquished foe to allow him 
to appeal for mercy to the vast populace. If the spectators desired the van- 
quished to live, they showed their mercy by presenting upturned thumbs; if 
they desired him to be killed, they signified their wish by reversed or down- 
ward turned thumbs, as is shown in Gerome's famous picture. Hence the 
expression "Pollice Verso" or "Thumbs reversed" came to have the mean- 
ing of " Complete the conquest ! " or " Finish the fight! " 



I. 

Within the Coliseum's walls, 
With strained and wearied eyes, 

A motley crowd from Roman halls 
Shout as the vanquished dies. 

Upon his couch with languid look, 
The empurpled Caesar lay — 

Scarce conscious as his ease he took, 
Of evening's lengthening ray. 

With hollow eyes and haggard mien, 
The Roman matrons stood, 

With gaze intent upon that scene 
Of strife, and pain, and blood. 

On that hard-matted, brutal floor, 
The dying swordsman lay ; 

39 



POLLICK VERSO. 

In vain, their mercy to implore, 
His beckoning hand made way. 

The noise and din — the shouts of strife, 

The groans of dying men ; 
Passed like the light and clouds of life 

Athwart some caverned glen. 

With foot upon his foeman's breast, 

The lucky winner stands ; 
Awaiting the supreme behest 

Of countless, down-turned hands. 

" Pollice Verso! " is the cry, 

O'er the arena heard, 
The signal that the vanquished die ! — 

He dies — without a word ! 

II. 

If life is strife till life be past 
For souls who own a Father's hand, 
How well that we should rest at last, 
If life is strife. 

We struggle on from morn till noon 

And wonder when our feet shall stand, 

In regions bright with holier life. 
4 o 



POLLICE VERSO. 

When the last blow on self is cast, 
When the last sword-thrust, whose command 
Has ruled our latest will is past — 
Then ends the strife. 

III. 

Pleasure and Profit can give no peace 
They whisper in silence, " Cease, oh, cease 
This long-drawn strife — Lo ! the scars increase." 

Howe'er it be, that we feel the night, 

Growing dark o'er a field where once there was light, 

Let us heed this motto — " Finish the fight." 

Oh ! ye who have struggled and won at last, 
Bind now your forms to the upright mast 
Like Ulysses of old, till the syrens are past. 

Oh, children of yesterday — men of to-day ! 

There are heads which were black, that now are gray, 

Lines on our faces which seem to say — 

"This struggle of life — is it worth it all ? 
This fight for God — it is growing small ; 
This sense of Right— shall it go to the wall ?" 

But Duty, the daughter of Faith and of God, 
Shows to us each that thorny road 
Leading to Peace— which the Master trod ! 

4 1 



POLLICE VERSO. 

Brothers and men, let us read aright 
All that this symbol speaks in light, 
Let ns heed the signal and "Finish the fight ! " 

Not pleasure alone with her empty smile, 
Crafty and coy, and surcharged with guile 
Can serve the nature God leads the while. 

When pleasure in manhood rears his head ; 
As we stand with the living and bury the dead, 
Let this motto of old once more be said : 

'' Pollice Verso," finish the fight, 
Complete the conquest — ere it be night, 
Die with the armor on — Die in your might. 

When the bait of reward, or the greed of gain 
Leaves on the virgin soul a stain, 
Listen once more to this old refrain : 

"Pollice Verso" — round out thy life — 

Carry the standard into the strife, 

For better for worse, as with man and wife. 

There is joy in service, redeeming its pain, 
There is health and hope and truest gain 
When the nature its highest doth attain. 

IV. 

We know not what that life shall be, 
What regions yet unknown are there, 



POLLICE VERSO. 

What knowledge we shall one day see — 

What glory bear ! 

But into life so sure, so free — 
Beyond the beating of the sea, 
The soul its armor-chain must wear 

The symbol of our strife ; when we 
Rise high above our mood's despair, 
And we shall gain the victory — 
In upper air. 

V. 

Oh ! sons of men! my lay forgive 
If pitched too high it seem — 

The rest of life we each must live, 
We cannot play or dream. 

Our past is gone for good or ill, 

Our present yet remains ; 
The future lies within the will 

Of him who reaps his gains. 

Gone be the lower springs of life, 

Gone be the cringing bow 
Of mind to things, Oh, end the strife ! 

Complete the conquest now ! 

"Pollice Verso " be our cry ! 

Press down the hand till death ! 
Better to struggle and to die, 

Than draw the craven's breath ! 

43 



THE LEGEND OF ALL-SOULS-DAY. 



This is Francesco's tomb ; the flowers you see 

Are brought each day by loving hands unknown 

And placed upon this rocky sepulchre. 

'T is twenty years since Old Francesco died. 

It seems but yesterday. The people here 

Can ne'er forget him. Every house had some 

One dead, like Egypt's plague, and, whether shriven 

Or dead in sins, the soul departed, dear 

To father, mother, wife or husband's heart, 

Was covered by the breath of holy prayer. 

"'T is all poor man can do," Francesco said ; 

"Come, let us follow dying ones with prayer." 

How do we know 

But the mercy of Heaven 
Reaches to souls 

Whom we call unforgiven ? 
Who can forbid us 

To follow our dead 
With a prayer to our Father 

That the lost may be led ? 
Who shall forbid us 

Humanity's part ? 

44 



THE LEGEND OF ALL-SOULS-DAY. 

Who shall restrain 

The bold leap of the heart, 
As we pray for our loved ones, 

Ask the Father to keep, 
In His mercy, the feet 

Of His lost, wand'ring sheep ? 

Such was his daily prayer. Amid yon grove 

That skirts the vine-dressed hill, the Clnny monks 

Oft gathered, as the sun went down ; and there 

Brother Francesco prayed, with hope inspired, 

For all the dead. Great faith in prayer had he ! 

But I must tell you why we keep the day 

For All Souls. This Francesco, man of God, 

Went as a pilgrim to the Holy Land. 

The tomb of Christ he visited, and paid 

To the Most High his vows. Returning thence, 

He fain betook him to Mount Etna's side ; 

For in a cavern, it was said, what time 

The mountain thundered and poured out its fire, 

The cursings and the cries of all the damned 

' T was possible for men of faith to hear, — 

God's recompense for all their trust in Him. 

Here, at the mouth of Hell, Francesco paused, 

Impatient for the slumbering fires to give 

The sign when spirits doomed might groan their hate 

And rage against the sovereign laws of God. 

45 



THE LEGEND OF ALL-SOULS-DAY. 

For in the belching flames and throes which shook 

The sturdy island's base and mountain's side, 

The cries of all the damned were lost in wild 

Confusion. Here Francesco waited. Oft 

In the hot noon, or when the moonbeams shed 

Their peaceful influence on that rocky mount, 

The holy brother, mid the jeers and cries 

Of peasants smeared with grape-juice, at their toil 

Amid the vines, the sport of children and 

Of all the wagging crowd, yet undisturbed 

Pursued his purpose, faltering not. Him in 

The cleft, at midnight prayer, the whirlwind found, 

The lava spoke in myriad hissing tongues, 

The mountain trembled, and the flames shot forth 

Like curling vipers on the stony crest 

Of fiery Etna. Sheltered, unappalled, 

Francesco, in the stormy war of all 

The elements, heard whisperings — Devils lost, 

Cursing the Cluny monks. Their prayers, they said, 

Snatched many a soul from Fate and lowest Hell. 

E'en God Himself, they muttered, yielded to 

Such rescuing faith. Then listening undismayed, 

The father heard them chant this impious song, 

In their wild wrath : 

Curse these men of Faith ! 
Faith does more than gold. 
46 



THE LEGEND OF ALL-SOULS-DAY. 

Curse their holy breath, 
Winning semis untold ! 

Thunder in the air 

Clears the murky sky. 
Breath of living prayer 

Brings the Father nigh ! 

When the world was ours, 

When the world was dead, 
Faith awoke new powers, 

Faith new light has shed ! 

Curse these men of Faith ! 

Prayer is not in yain ! 
Men of Faith can dare 

Save lost worlds again ! 

Curse these men of Faith ! 

Faith does more than gold, 
Conquers Hell and Death, 

Never waxes cold ! 

More there is not to tell ; 

Methinks the rest is known to all the world. 
Odilo, Abbot of this place, has kept 
The day forever sacred when the monk 
Within the cavern heard the devils rave, 
And called it then " The Feast of all the Souls." 
Then the Pope blessed the day. The rest you know. 

47 



RE-ASSURANCE. 



And this is the victory that overeometh the world, even our faith. 

i John. t. 4. 

Is there a victory then 

Over our doubts and fears, 
Is there a passage for men 

Out of this valley of tears ? 
For men who are weary and worn, 

Broken, desponding and sad, 
Is there Christ's smile for earth's scorn, 

Making the sorrowful glad ? 

Is there a joy for our trust, 

A hope and assurance of peace, 
Is there a time when our doubts 

And temptations forever shall cease ? 
Is there a morning of light, 

A Sabbath of quiet and rest, 
When the end of the journey is reached, 

And the crown of rejoicing possessed ? 

Yes ! For at last we shall find 

The Way, and the Truth, and the Life, 

In our Lord, as the end of our search, 
In Christ, as the goal of the strife. 
48 



RE-ASSURANCE. 

Doubt, and temptation, and sin, 

And the struggles we wage while we roam 
Will be hushed, in the past, and life's din 

Be forgotten when resting at home. 

So there's a victory then 

Over our doubts and our fears ; 
Faith shall forever give way 

To knowledge which cometh with years ! 
A knowledge of hope changed to sight, 

Of trust to fruition made plain ; 
A life where the will and the power 

To love as Christ loveth shall reign. 



49 



THE MIRAGE. 



IT DOTH NOT YET APPEAR WHAT WE SHALL BE." 

"Splendor! Immensity! Rapture! Grand words, great things: a little 
definite happiness would be more to the purpose." — Madame de Ga6parin. 



In the mood of suspense I ask, can it be true, 

All this faith which we cling to and trust in 

With courage and joy ? Shall I tremblingly rue 

In the future unknown, this strong certainty 

Steadying my hopes here on earth ? For I am so small, 

In the sweep of God's planets ; so tired and lone, 

In the rush of the torrents of souls ! Amid all 

That I know not, nor care for, nor trust in, shall I, 

Still myself as I am, press in at the door 

That moves open at death and admits me to 

Splendor, immensity, rapture, — and more 

Than my mind can conceive of ? But shall this 

Be I, this new, wonderful creature ? Methinks I had rather 

Be less of the marvel, effulgent in rainbows of bliss, 

And more of the man, who in heaven could gather 

His human ones round him and live without sin, as he was ! 

For how can I love these great powers and angels, 

And all the unknown ones who surge out and in 

so 



THE MIRAGE. 

From the worlds that I never have dreamed of ? 

God, is it thus ? Shall I lose myself there 

In the soul-dust of lives which are numberless, depths 

"Which I never can enter ? My Father, Oh ! where 

Shall I rest myself, wearied and staggered 

With all this sublimity ? O God, is there not by 

Thy throne, in which center the lines of 

Creation's far-reaching expanse, the form and the eye 

Of the human one, tingeing eternity's colorless blank 

With the blood-drops of time, and making in space 

Unsubstantial and airy with cloud-fleece, a firm 

And unchanging reality, where I can place 

My poor wandering feet close by His feet ! Yea, my God, 

1 shall see Thee through Christ ! I shall cling to that Hand 
Which was pierced for my sins, and though awed 

By the shining of infinite light, still my soul 
Shall be knit to the human in Jesus ! I shall stand 
Where the sinning men saved stand : the roll 
Of the worlds ever moving around me : the flight 
Of the thronging attendants of spirits, the life of 
Eternity dreaded, unknown, shall awake to my sight, 
As the feverish dreams turn to joy when the sufferer wakes 
to the light. 

Si 



AMONG THE HILLS. 



"Come to me, oh my child," my mother saith, 
As resting in the spear-grass of the bluff, 
I seek new comfortings, and with her breath 
Fanning my cheek, feel this is joy enough. 

" Come to me from the toil, the care, the strife; 
Come from the false faith to the ever true; 
Look not behind thee at thy empty life, — 
Come seek thy mother's blessing ever new. 

"Wherefore this haste and toil, this carking care, 
Why all this restless hurry, fret and pain ? 
The grave awaits thy quickened speed, and where, 
So well as here, cans't thou thy soul regain? 

"Forget my child, the standards of the hour; 
Forget the paltry hoard and gains of men; 
Lay down the rod of fickle Fashion's power, 
Come to thy mother's arms, my child, again !" 

" Yes, mother, dear, thy truant turns to thee, 
To thee comes back the prodigal of yore; 
Fooled, snared and blinded I thy face would see — 
Would be the mother's innocent once more. 

"Calm me, O ! Spirit of the Meadow's God ! 

Breathe through my soul the peace that comes to thee, 
Fold me within thine arms, and let the sod, 
The sky, the mountains, give their calm to me. " 



THE MESSAGE OF THE PULPIT. 



" I have a message from God unto thee." Judges ir, 20. 



God has a word for thee, 
My child, whose grasp on God is strong and sure, 
Keep thou thy childhood spotless, fresh and pure ! 

This is God's word for thee. 

God has a word for thee, 
My boy, just entering on the joys of youth, 
Be not deceived — there is no guide like Truth ! 

This is God's word for thee. 

God has a word for thee, 
My brother man, in the hot field of strife, 
Lay hold, not on existence but on life ! 

This is God's word for thee. 

God has a word for thee, 
My sister, queen o'er many a fluttering heart, 
Gifts perish, graces wither — choose that part 

That shall not fall from thee. 

God has a word for thee, 
My father, standing at the gates of Death, 
Be not afraid — Heaven's own immortal breath 

Is waiting there for thee. 

S3 



THE MESSAGE OF THE PULPIT. 

God lias a word for thee, 
Oh ! happy soul, exultant as the lark. 
Rejoice ! Rejoice ! but midst thy pleasures — Hark ! 

When God would speak to thee. 

God has a word for thee, 
O mourning soul, torn by thy sorrow sore, 
A day will come when thou shalt mourn no more, 

This is God's word for thee. 

God has a word for thee, 
Thou fallen world, on God's own pivots hung, 
Thou fallen world, out on God's confines flung, 

This is God's word for thee — 

God speaketh to His world, 
God dwells with man, in man's own fallen home ; 
God wills it that we shall no longer roam 

Out from His j>resence hurled. 

i » 
This is God's word to man. 

The Son of God is here, Oh ! be not dumb, 

The Spirit and the Bride are calling, " Come r \? f 

God dwelleth now with man. 



54 



THE IDLE HARP. 



" As for our harps we hanged them upon the willows. 



I have no time for Thee, 
Harp of my bright and lithesome boyhood's ways, 
Care, work and duty now consume my days, 

I have no time for Thee ! 

I have no need of Thee : 
A captive in the chains of daily toil — 
Song comes not as the fruit of hard-reaped soil — 

I have no need of Thee ! 

I have no soul for Thee : 
Hang thou upon the willow's bending arm ; 
A silent harp can do the world no harm, 

I have no soul for Thee ! 

I have no skill for Thee : 
The captive bird can never raise the songs 
Of joy which to his freedom's hour belongs, 

I have no skill for Thee ! 

I have no place for Thee : 
The minstrel's note sounds harsh o'er fields of strife 

55 



THE IDLE HARP. 

' T is work and toil, not song, which makes our life 
I have no place for Thee ! 

But I may come to Thee, 
Thou Idle Harp, neglected and unstrung ; 
Thou Idle Harp, upon the willows hung, 

Perchance I'll come to Thee, 

And Thou shalt speak again, 
Thy notes forgotten, and thy chords once more 
Shall soothe my spirit as in days of yore, 

Yes, Thou shalt speak again ! 

Rest till the coming morn ! 
As spoke great Memnon's statue when the breath 
Awoke its strains, so from thy seeming death 

New voices shall be born ! 



50 



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